Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Character...
They glowered at each other for a minute before she stalked off into the kitchen. He felt the heat of her anger dissipate as she left, but his cheeks were still warm from the fight. He watched her grab a knife out of the knife block and proceed to mutilate a green pepper. Her knuckles were white with the force of which she clung to the knife; the muscles in her arms rippled with a purpose under her skin as she violently sliced through the vegetable. Her face was hidden under her thin, brown hair, straight and plain, the only ting that seemed lifeless and indifferent in this moment of livid hatred. He saw her bangs fly up in a huff of frustration, and he could see a single tear clinging to the gentle curve of her cheek, but her eyes still glowed red hot, and they flashed in the reflected light of the knife. Her jaw was set, solid, and clamped shut in fierce determination to keep silent. He followed her, not finished with his argument.
Setting...
He stood there, empty-handed, his clothes sagging with the mist, watching the balloon meander through the sky, pitching back and forth in the turbulent bursts of wind. He turned toward the house and considered it with the fear a child has before entering a haunted mansion. Gray clouds swirled and tumbled with the wind and the naked trees in the yard creaked and swayed, making the house appear more foreboding than before. The piles of leaves he'd forgotten to bag the day before now lay scattered across the lawn, occasionally being thrusted into the air with a sudden poof of wind. The sharp breeze bit his cheeks so they turned red and his eyes watered with the deepening chill. A light flickered on in the front room and his eyes shifted to that window, unwillingly attracted to the yellow gleam. He saw a divide appear in the blinds, a space that was shortly conquered by his wife's beady eyes and her shrewd glare.
Reflective Essay
To be diverse is to have an absence of uniformity. With an absence of uniformity, we can experience traits, opinions, and situations other than our own, which help us to develop new traits, form new opinions, and encounter new situations. These changes are what keep our world progressing forward. The summer before my freshman year of high school, I came up against such a situation that altered my perspective on humanity. It was a situation of service that threw the meaning and importance of diversity in my face.
My youth group went up to Tennessee to work with an organization called the Appalachian Service Project, ASP for short. ASP works with impoverished families living in and around the Appalachian Mts. They help construct homes, literally and figuratively, around these families, providing support in whatever way they can. We were assigned to the Phillips family. Our job was to see if we could return running water to the one bathroom, add doors to the two bedrooms, replace warped paneling, and put flashing around the chimney on the roof (the lack of flashing is what damaged the paneling in the first place).
The first time I walked through the door of their tiny, rundown dwelling, I thought to myself, "What disaster has happened here?" The entire house was packed in with useless junk that had a single trail made out so that one could walk through without tripping. This is when I truly grasped the fact that not everybody lives the same way I do. However, just as pity began to seep into my mind, I stepped over the threshold and smelled… fried chicken. And biscuits. Think of the best chicken biscuit you've ever had and multiply its goodness by ten. Then add three smiling, genuinely warm-hearted people into the mix and you've got contentment. Mr. Phillips, Ms. Phillips, and Patricia make up one of the happiest, most satisfied families you could ever meet.
Despite their not-so-perfect living condition, they have a superb vegetable garden from which they get a majority of their food. Mr. Phillips, even though he is dreadfully poor, gives away baskets of tomatoes and peppers to family and friends instead of selling them. As he put it, "I just feel like it's nice to do. I like giving away my tomatoes. People like them." They also boast an impressive flock of chickens and keep a pig or two. I was amazed at how they could take such good care of these animals and not of their house or themselves.
What I learned is that these things are not what mattered. What was important was how these people accepted what they had and were thankful for it. I had expected this family to be sad and desperate. I had imagined ourselves as something like heroes coming in the nick of time to save their house and save their lives. But I was wrong. These people were happy, satisfied, and at peace with the world. They simply have their share of troubles just like anyone else and occasionally they might need help. That was our job; to give them the boost they needed so that they could continue on with their lives. They didn't so much worry about the material things, but regarded life and love seriously and did not take them for granted. They were happy with their lives overall, just not with their house. There's nothing bad or wrong with the way they're living, it's solely our perception of what is good and what is bad that is wrong. I learned that material items do not matter nearly as much as how you lead your life and appreciate the people close to you.
My youth group went up to Tennessee to work with an organization called the Appalachian Service Project, ASP for short. ASP works with impoverished families living in and around the Appalachian Mts. They help construct homes, literally and figuratively, around these families, providing support in whatever way they can. We were assigned to the Phillips family. Our job was to see if we could return running water to the one bathroom, add doors to the two bedrooms, replace warped paneling, and put flashing around the chimney on the roof (the lack of flashing is what damaged the paneling in the first place).
The first time I walked through the door of their tiny, rundown dwelling, I thought to myself, "What disaster has happened here?" The entire house was packed in with useless junk that had a single trail made out so that one could walk through without tripping. This is when I truly grasped the fact that not everybody lives the same way I do. However, just as pity began to seep into my mind, I stepped over the threshold and smelled… fried chicken. And biscuits. Think of the best chicken biscuit you've ever had and multiply its goodness by ten. Then add three smiling, genuinely warm-hearted people into the mix and you've got contentment. Mr. Phillips, Ms. Phillips, and Patricia make up one of the happiest, most satisfied families you could ever meet.
Despite their not-so-perfect living condition, they have a superb vegetable garden from which they get a majority of their food. Mr. Phillips, even though he is dreadfully poor, gives away baskets of tomatoes and peppers to family and friends instead of selling them. As he put it, "I just feel like it's nice to do. I like giving away my tomatoes. People like them." They also boast an impressive flock of chickens and keep a pig or two. I was amazed at how they could take such good care of these animals and not of their house or themselves.
What I learned is that these things are not what mattered. What was important was how these people accepted what they had and were thankful for it. I had expected this family to be sad and desperate. I had imagined ourselves as something like heroes coming in the nick of time to save their house and save their lives. But I was wrong. These people were happy, satisfied, and at peace with the world. They simply have their share of troubles just like anyone else and occasionally they might need help. That was our job; to give them the boost they needed so that they could continue on with their lives. They didn't so much worry about the material things, but regarded life and love seriously and did not take them for granted. They were happy with their lives overall, just not with their house. There's nothing bad or wrong with the way they're living, it's solely our perception of what is good and what is bad that is wrong. I learned that material items do not matter nearly as much as how you lead your life and appreciate the people close to you.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Dialogo
He had been gone an hour. She would be worried, or suspicious. How was she to know what he had been up to? The balloon was his only proof. He had gone with his friend to the fair because his friend wanted to visit the kissing booth, but didn't want to go alone.
"Look Matt, I have a lot to do today - "
"Come on buddy! I need you there! Gimme some support."
"Dude, it's just a kissing booth, it's not like you need a wingman. This sort of thing is for 10-year-olds and old men who can't get any action. Go to a bar and see what you find there."
"Look, it's for reminiscing, you know, looking back to the good ol' days. Just for fun, man! Come with me, you'll enjoy it."
"You mean you'll enjoy it."
"Whatever, you can feed off the glow of my experience."
So he went. The line was very long.
"Look Matt, I have a lot to do today - "
"Come on buddy! I need you there! Gimme some support."
"Dude, it's just a kissing booth, it's not like you need a wingman. This sort of thing is for 10-year-olds and old men who can't get any action. Go to a bar and see what you find there."
"Look, it's for reminiscing, you know, looking back to the good ol' days. Just for fun, man! Come with me, you'll enjoy it."
"You mean you'll enjoy it."
"Whatever, you can feed off the glow of my experience."
So he went. The line was very long.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sarah's Situation
Sarah was drifting in and out of consciousness by the second; why couldn't she hold onto reality? She couldn't take it anymore and she let go and the blackness took over. It was hours later when she finally awoke with a monster headache. She whimpered and slowly sat up. Her head throbbed and she soon loss her sense of balance and crumpled to the ground. What had happened? She'd simply gone out to the woods to find Brownie, her cat, before dark; she was always worried that he would get lost in the night. She'd taken her flashlight with the baggy of extra batteries, just in case the light died while she was out. She wore her thick, rubber, rain boots (never know what you might step in in those woods) and carried out an umbrella (what if there was a sudden monsoon?). She'd been walking along when she heard a small noise - maybe that was Brownie. She took a few steps off the path, but not too many, she didn't want to get lost. Then it happened - a hard, blunt object hit her head. She stumbled and fell to her knees - she was too shocked to scream. She fought maddeningly to hold onto consciousness to see who would do such a thing, but there was no one around, and she couldn't stand it much longer, and that's when she gave in to the darkness.
Now she was awake, unable to do anything but lay on the ground. She realized it was dark and she shivered. Where was her flashlight? She hated the dark, she didn't want to move, afraid she's roll on top of a snake or squirrel or whatever other creepy-crawlies lived on the floor of the forest. She tried searching with her eyes, but that didn't matter, all she wanted to do was get off this dirty ground and find some light.
Now she was awake, unable to do anything but lay on the ground. She realized it was dark and she shivered. Where was her flashlight? She hated the dark, she didn't want to move, afraid she's roll on top of a snake or squirrel or whatever other creepy-crawlies lived on the floor of the forest. She tried searching with her eyes, but that didn't matter, all she wanted to do was get off this dirty ground and find some light.
Her Monologue
Where have you been? You were gone so long! And you didn't leave a note or anything, you had me so worried. I didn't know what to do, whether I should call the police or just wait for you or what. I was going to call the police in ten minutes if you hadn't gotten back; what a mess that would have been, I mean, you're obviously OK, you finally made it home. But if I had called and you had arrived two seconds later, we would have had to waste hours explaining the situation to the police and no doubt they would have fined us for a prank call or something, like we can really afford that right now, especially with all these bills we have to pay because of the new furniture and the appliances and the car, and with your job, it's not like we're getting anywhere fast. Why couldn't you have just taken the accounting job? You'd make so much more money and we wouldn't have to buy wholesale all the time. What if we're still buying things from Wal-Mart when we have kids? Babies need good, organic foods! And so do I! I can't get fat and bloated by eating chemicals all day, do you know what that would do to my figure? How can I pay for a gym membership with the money you make? I'm on my feet 4 hours a day, 3 days a week, dealing with irritated linen buyers left and right, and I get such awful headaches - and then I have to come home and take care of you, which is not easy, but if you come home late all the time, how can I depend on you? What am I going to do?
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Don't think of water...
She was wriggling and shifting, she couldn't sit still; the seconds seemed to take minutes to pass and the flabby lady next to her was slurping through her straw like an elephant would its trunk, it was disgusting and it just made her more nervous; she didn't know if she could do it or wait any longer, what if no one ever came, what if she was just left standing here, left to live in this agitated state; the men were walking in and out as consistently as the clock ticks, but the women were made to wait; some of them looked as bad as she did, all curled up, rocking back and forth, waiting... and then finally! The janitor removed the broken lock and she surged forward into the bathroom.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Part 2
Ominous thoughts swirled around in his head - what would she do? What would she say? How would she react when he entered the house, hours after supper, with no valid reason for being away so long. His single shred of evidence that would have proved where he had been was gone. He stood there empty-handed, his clothes sagging with the mist, watching the balloon meander through the sky, pitching back and forth in the turbulent bursts of wind.
He turned toward the house. A light flickered on in the front room and he a saw a divide appear in the blinds, a space that was shortly conquered by his wife's beady eyes and her shrewd glare. He quickly gathered up his coat and umbrella and hastened to the house. The door was opened before he could lay his hand on his keys and he found himself face to face with that penetrating stare.
"Where have you been?" she asked steadily, "It's ten past eight and you missed supper."
"I'm sorry, I - "
"And you left your phone on the counter, again." Her voice went up an octave.
"I know, I feel - "
"And you didn't leave a note or anything, you had me so worried," the words began flowing out quicker and closer together, "I didn't know what to do, whether I should call the police or wait it out or what. I was going to call the police in ten minutes if you hadn't gotten back, " a whine had evolved out of her voice as they entered the house and walked down the hall, "What a mess that would have been, I mean, you're obviously OK, you finally made it home, but if I had called and you had arrived two seconds later, we would have had to waste hours explaining the situation to the police and no doubt they would have fined us for a prank call or something, like we can really afford that right now, especially with all these bills we have to pay because of the new furniture, and with your job, it's not like we're getting anywhere fast - "
"Why do you worry so much?" Oops, he grimaced just as the last words fell out of his mouth. That wasn't exactly what he had meant to say and clearly the grimace was taken as a look of disgust.
"Why do I worry so much?!" Her pitch rose and the whine transformed into a snarl, "I worry so much because you do stupid things like take off in the middle of the day, without warning, and don't return until hours later, with no explanation of where you've been and why! I have to worry for the both of us because clearly you don't care enough to stay home and take on your share of responsibility, worrying included!"
"Look, I'm sorry, but you didn't even give me a chance to explain."
"Well do so then!" She had started the wild hand gestures and drops of perspiration had appeared just above her eyebrows - he knew she was on the brink of erupting.
"Well, OK, Matt wanted to go to the fair - "
"You put me through all of this just for a stupid kiddie fair?!"
"Let me finish! He didn't want to go by himself so I went with him to the kissing booth - "
"WHAT??"
"But I didn't - "
"You went to a kissing booth?! What do you think I am? A piece of lawn furniture? I am your wife!" Her face was turning red and he felt spitle hitting his face, "Am I only good enough to cook your food and wash your clothes and you can't even come to me for a kiss?!" He figured it was time to start fighting back. This was ridiculous, he hadn't even gotten in line, much less kissed another woman.
"Look, I didn't even get in line - "
"But you were there!"
"Yeah but I didn't kiss anybody!"
"But you could have! Why can't I trust you?"
"Good question, why?!" They glowered at each other for a minute before she stalked off huffing into the kitchen. He followed her, not finished with his argument.
"I promise you, I have never kissed another women since we got married. I simply was doing Matt a favor by going with him. I just stood by, watched, and then we left. I'm mostly late because of the storm. I bought a balloon while I was there because I wanted to bring something nice back to you, but the wind caught it and it blew away. You should only be mad at me because I got home late and didn't let you know where I was and I'm sorry for that, OK? Just give me a break."
"You bought me a balloon?" She peeked at him through her bangs.
"Yes, I though it would be nice and I though you'd like it."
"What color was it?"
"Pink, your - "
"Favorite." She was looking at him with awe, like she'd never seen anything more beautiful than him before.
"I love you." She skipped toward him and squeezed him tight. Then she looked into his eyes and whispered, "You're so good to me." Geez, he thought, she's so emotionally unstable, why do I put up with her? But he couldn't complete his thought, she pressed her lips to his and they were locked in a passionate kiss. As she pulled away, he understood.
He turned toward the house. A light flickered on in the front room and he a saw a divide appear in the blinds, a space that was shortly conquered by his wife's beady eyes and her shrewd glare. He quickly gathered up his coat and umbrella and hastened to the house. The door was opened before he could lay his hand on his keys and he found himself face to face with that penetrating stare.
"Where have you been?" she asked steadily, "It's ten past eight and you missed supper."
"I'm sorry, I - "
"And you left your phone on the counter, again." Her voice went up an octave.
"I know, I feel - "
"And you didn't leave a note or anything, you had me so worried," the words began flowing out quicker and closer together, "I didn't know what to do, whether I should call the police or wait it out or what. I was going to call the police in ten minutes if you hadn't gotten back, " a whine had evolved out of her voice as they entered the house and walked down the hall, "What a mess that would have been, I mean, you're obviously OK, you finally made it home, but if I had called and you had arrived two seconds later, we would have had to waste hours explaining the situation to the police and no doubt they would have fined us for a prank call or something, like we can really afford that right now, especially with all these bills we have to pay because of the new furniture, and with your job, it's not like we're getting anywhere fast - "
"Why do you worry so much?" Oops, he grimaced just as the last words fell out of his mouth. That wasn't exactly what he had meant to say and clearly the grimace was taken as a look of disgust.
"Why do I worry so much?!" Her pitch rose and the whine transformed into a snarl, "I worry so much because you do stupid things like take off in the middle of the day, without warning, and don't return until hours later, with no explanation of where you've been and why! I have to worry for the both of us because clearly you don't care enough to stay home and take on your share of responsibility, worrying included!"
"Look, I'm sorry, but you didn't even give me a chance to explain."
"Well do so then!" She had started the wild hand gestures and drops of perspiration had appeared just above her eyebrows - he knew she was on the brink of erupting.
"Well, OK, Matt wanted to go to the fair - "
"You put me through all of this just for a stupid kiddie fair?!"
"Let me finish! He didn't want to go by himself so I went with him to the kissing booth - "
"WHAT??"
"But I didn't - "
"You went to a kissing booth?! What do you think I am? A piece of lawn furniture? I am your wife!" Her face was turning red and he felt spitle hitting his face, "Am I only good enough to cook your food and wash your clothes and you can't even come to me for a kiss?!" He figured it was time to start fighting back. This was ridiculous, he hadn't even gotten in line, much less kissed another woman.
"Look, I didn't even get in line - "
"But you were there!"
"Yeah but I didn't kiss anybody!"
"But you could have! Why can't I trust you?"
"Good question, why?!" They glowered at each other for a minute before she stalked off huffing into the kitchen. He followed her, not finished with his argument.
"I promise you, I have never kissed another women since we got married. I simply was doing Matt a favor by going with him. I just stood by, watched, and then we left. I'm mostly late because of the storm. I bought a balloon while I was there because I wanted to bring something nice back to you, but the wind caught it and it blew away. You should only be mad at me because I got home late and didn't let you know where I was and I'm sorry for that, OK? Just give me a break."
"You bought me a balloon?" She peeked at him through her bangs.
"Yes, I though it would be nice and I though you'd like it."
"What color was it?"
"Pink, your - "
"Favorite." She was looking at him with awe, like she'd never seen anything more beautiful than him before.
"I love you." She skipped toward him and squeezed him tight. Then she looked into his eyes and whispered, "You're so good to me." Geez, he thought, she's so emotionally unstable, why do I put up with her? But he couldn't complete his thought, she pressed her lips to his and they were locked in a passionate kiss. As she pulled away, he understood.
The Shaggy Dog
Poor pup, outside in the rain, all alone. His name was Spot and he was smelly, dirty, and had a shaggy coat of fur, but it was mainly his stench that drove people away. However, he had a friendly disposition, and people took pity on him. They fed him food scraps and occasionally gave him a safe place to sleep (depending on how well they could tolerate the odor), but no one could ever take the smell long enough to keep him. They tried bathing him, they tried perfumes; one lady even completely shaved him, but the stink seemed to radiate out of his skin. So he would always end up back in the streets, begging for food and companionship.
It was a rainy Thursday when Spot met Johnny. Johnny, a small nine-year-old who lost his sense of smell at birth, saw Spot curled up under a tiny overhang in front of an abandoned restaurant. Spot was fast asleep, but awoke to find a tiny boy patting his head.
"Come on boy." Johnny held out his hand and Spot licked it. Spot got up and he and Johnny walked down the street to the townhouse where Johnny lived.
"Quick, get inside! If dad sees you, you'll get thrown out!" Spot trotted inside like any happy dog would when invited into a warm, dry home. He and Johnny ran upstairs, just as Johnny's dad walked through the door.
"Hi Johnny! Ugh, what is that smell??"
"Don't know what you mean dad!" Johnny yelled back.
"What have you been doing all day? Playing in the dumpster?"
"I don't smell anything." Johnny mumbled sarcastically.
"What?"
"I don't know what you smell, sorry!" Johnny took Spot into his room and shut the door.
"Stay here and I'll bring some food up for you later." Johnny left the room. Spot didn't really understand what was going on, but the bed looked soft and cozy so he curled up on that and went to sleep. Johnny didn't return for an hour or so, but the smell of supper woke Spot up.
"Here you go puppy. You look hungry. Oh, look, you have a tag." Spot was gobbling up the food and slobbering all over the bed sheets.
"It says, 'SPOT.'" Spot paused and looked up. The boy knew his name.
"That must be your name then," said Johnny. Spot went back to eating.
"There's no address or anything else on here. I wonder why no one owns you..." Johnny sat thinking, absentmindedly stroking Spot's mangy head. Spot had finished eating and was looking at Johnny with soft eyes, his eyelids fluttering - being petted felt so good and so comforting! He could rest his head in this boy's lap for eternity and be content.
"Johnny! What is this?" Johnny's dad had come in. Spot looked around, surprised, and pricked up his ears. Johnny looked startled.
"He's just a dog dad! He's really sweet and tame. He was alone and hungry out in the ran. His name is Spot."
"He smells like a pig barn! Get him out of the house!"
"I don't smell him."
"That's enough smart comments from you, now get him off of your bed and downstairs." Spot whimpered, not out of sadness, just out of exasperation. Here we go again, he thought, back outside - at least I got a good meal and a nice place to nap a bit this time. He leaped off the bed and started down the stairs.
"No Spot!" Spot stopped, confused. He thought he was supposed to leave. Johnny looked at him with pleading eyes.
"Go Spot!" A bigger voice rang out, more authoritative and menacing. Johnny's dad was coming toward Spot with his face screwed up due to the stench. So Spot continued down the stairs, Johnny's dad right behind him and Johnny trying to push past his dad. At the bottom of the stairs, Johnny's dad opened the front door.
"Out Spot," he said, pinching his noise.
"No Spot, stay!"
"Johnny cut it out! We can't afford a dog, much less live with one that smells like this!"
"We can wash him! He can eat my leftovers - "
"No Johnny! Out Spot, out!" Spot turned toward the door and started to leave, but felt a hand grab his tail. He spun around and found himself face to face with Johnny. Johnny planted a kiss on Spot's head.
"See you 'round Spot," he whispered.
Johnny's dad, pushed to his limits shouted, "Out damned Spot, out!"
It was a rainy Thursday when Spot met Johnny. Johnny, a small nine-year-old who lost his sense of smell at birth, saw Spot curled up under a tiny overhang in front of an abandoned restaurant. Spot was fast asleep, but awoke to find a tiny boy patting his head.
"Come on boy." Johnny held out his hand and Spot licked it. Spot got up and he and Johnny walked down the street to the townhouse where Johnny lived.
"Quick, get inside! If dad sees you, you'll get thrown out!" Spot trotted inside like any happy dog would when invited into a warm, dry home. He and Johnny ran upstairs, just as Johnny's dad walked through the door.
"Hi Johnny! Ugh, what is that smell??"
"Don't know what you mean dad!" Johnny yelled back.
"What have you been doing all day? Playing in the dumpster?"
"I don't smell anything." Johnny mumbled sarcastically.
"What?"
"I don't know what you smell, sorry!" Johnny took Spot into his room and shut the door.
"Stay here and I'll bring some food up for you later." Johnny left the room. Spot didn't really understand what was going on, but the bed looked soft and cozy so he curled up on that and went to sleep. Johnny didn't return for an hour or so, but the smell of supper woke Spot up.
"Here you go puppy. You look hungry. Oh, look, you have a tag." Spot was gobbling up the food and slobbering all over the bed sheets.
"It says, 'SPOT.'" Spot paused and looked up. The boy knew his name.
"That must be your name then," said Johnny. Spot went back to eating.
"There's no address or anything else on here. I wonder why no one owns you..." Johnny sat thinking, absentmindedly stroking Spot's mangy head. Spot had finished eating and was looking at Johnny with soft eyes, his eyelids fluttering - being petted felt so good and so comforting! He could rest his head in this boy's lap for eternity and be content.
"Johnny! What is this?" Johnny's dad had come in. Spot looked around, surprised, and pricked up his ears. Johnny looked startled.
"He's just a dog dad! He's really sweet and tame. He was alone and hungry out in the ran. His name is Spot."
"He smells like a pig barn! Get him out of the house!"
"I don't smell him."
"That's enough smart comments from you, now get him off of your bed and downstairs." Spot whimpered, not out of sadness, just out of exasperation. Here we go again, he thought, back outside - at least I got a good meal and a nice place to nap a bit this time. He leaped off the bed and started down the stairs.
"No Spot!" Spot stopped, confused. He thought he was supposed to leave. Johnny looked at him with pleading eyes.
"Go Spot!" A bigger voice rang out, more authoritative and menacing. Johnny's dad was coming toward Spot with his face screwed up due to the stench. So Spot continued down the stairs, Johnny's dad right behind him and Johnny trying to push past his dad. At the bottom of the stairs, Johnny's dad opened the front door.
"Out Spot," he said, pinching his noise.
"No Spot, stay!"
"Johnny cut it out! We can't afford a dog, much less live with one that smells like this!"
"We can wash him! He can eat my leftovers - "
"No Johnny! Out Spot, out!" Spot turned toward the door and started to leave, but felt a hand grab his tail. He spun around and found himself face to face with Johnny. Johnny planted a kiss on Spot's head.
"See you 'round Spot," he whispered.
Johnny's dad, pushed to his limits shouted, "Out damned Spot, out!"
Sunday, September 13, 2009
For What It's Worth
It was a drizzly day in the town of Persopolis. Carl was bored; he couldn't go outside and play catch with his friends. He had been so excited to show Davy, Mike, and Seth his new, autographed baseball. But he woke up this morning to see the gray blanket of clouds that lay across the city that caused the pitter-patter of raindrops against his window.
So Carl simply sat on his bed, wearing his baseball has, just in case the sun came out. He turned the ball in his hands, reading the names of the players written there. Occasionally he would toss it up and down a few times before examining the cursive letters once more.
Carl's stomach rumbled. He suddenly realized that in his haste to get dressed this morning (so that he could run out as soon as the rain stopped) he'd forgotten to eat breakfast. Sighing, he slid off the bed and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
His mom had gone to get a haircut, but she'd left out some food for Carl: bread and butter for toast and orange juice to drink. Withing minutes Carl had devoured these but his stomach still begged for food. Something was missing from the meal... then it hit him. Carl was missing his apple. Every morning Carl had one piece of fruit and the only fruit he really like was an apple. He looked all around the kitchen, searching for the finishing touch to his breakfast, but the fruit bowl was no where insight. It occurred to him that his mom must have forgotten to take it down from the shelf, and sure enough, he could barely see the lip of it sticking out over the top shelf.
Grumbling, he stared up at it, tapping his foot impatiently. He then approached the counter and climed on top of it. He stood on his tippy-toes and stretched upward. Even then only his fingertips touched the bottom of the bowl. Disappointed, he climbed back down and started thinking again... he could use a stool from the bar in the basement. He trudged downstairs, grabbed a stool and lugged it back up to the kitchen. Standing on top of it he couldn't even reach the shelf - another failed attempt.
He sat down on the the stool puzzled... how could he get up there? His stomach made another pitiful moan - he had to get that apple. Then he remembered: there was a stepping stool in the laundry room - it was taller than the counter plus he could get on top of it easily. He retrieved it and placed it directly under the bowl. Slowly he climbed up the steps until, still one step from the top, he was able to reach the bowl. He placed his hands around it and lifted, but it didn't budge. He tried again, pushing underneath it, but to no avail. It was too heavy for Carl to pick up.
No matter, he thought, he could simply take the apple back down with him - that would save him the trouble of having to put the bowl back later anyway. He started to grab the apple but felt the bowl begin to tip so he let go and the apple fell back into the bowl; it steadied. Carl tried rolling the apple out the side but the bowl continued to rock so he stopped. Clearly the bowl was off balance; what could he use to replace the weight of the apple? His stomach growled - he needed that apple, and soon.
Then it came to him, though it was an unfortunate thought. His baseball, his priceless, autographed baseball, was the same size, same shape, and roughly the same weight as the apple. He slowly pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it. Could he give this up? Could he sacrifice something so valuable to him? His belly reminded him at that moment that sometimes food is of more worth than material things. Carefully Carl held the baseball slightly above the bowl with one hand and placed the other hand on the apple. With one fluid movement he swapped the two without the bowl rocking an inch. At last, he had his apple. He stared at it with admiration and pride as he made his way down the step stool. When he made it to the bottom he took one, huge bit out of the apple, causing juice to run down his chin. Licking his lips, he glanced back up at the fruit bowl, wondering if it was worth it. Sucking the juice out of the second bite, he decided yes.
So Carl simply sat on his bed, wearing his baseball has, just in case the sun came out. He turned the ball in his hands, reading the names of the players written there. Occasionally he would toss it up and down a few times before examining the cursive letters once more.
Carl's stomach rumbled. He suddenly realized that in his haste to get dressed this morning (so that he could run out as soon as the rain stopped) he'd forgotten to eat breakfast. Sighing, he slid off the bed and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
His mom had gone to get a haircut, but she'd left out some food for Carl: bread and butter for toast and orange juice to drink. Withing minutes Carl had devoured these but his stomach still begged for food. Something was missing from the meal... then it hit him. Carl was missing his apple. Every morning Carl had one piece of fruit and the only fruit he really like was an apple. He looked all around the kitchen, searching for the finishing touch to his breakfast, but the fruit bowl was no where insight. It occurred to him that his mom must have forgotten to take it down from the shelf, and sure enough, he could barely see the lip of it sticking out over the top shelf.
Grumbling, he stared up at it, tapping his foot impatiently. He then approached the counter and climed on top of it. He stood on his tippy-toes and stretched upward. Even then only his fingertips touched the bottom of the bowl. Disappointed, he climbed back down and started thinking again... he could use a stool from the bar in the basement. He trudged downstairs, grabbed a stool and lugged it back up to the kitchen. Standing on top of it he couldn't even reach the shelf - another failed attempt.
He sat down on the the stool puzzled... how could he get up there? His stomach made another pitiful moan - he had to get that apple. Then he remembered: there was a stepping stool in the laundry room - it was taller than the counter plus he could get on top of it easily. He retrieved it and placed it directly under the bowl. Slowly he climbed up the steps until, still one step from the top, he was able to reach the bowl. He placed his hands around it and lifted, but it didn't budge. He tried again, pushing underneath it, but to no avail. It was too heavy for Carl to pick up.
No matter, he thought, he could simply take the apple back down with him - that would save him the trouble of having to put the bowl back later anyway. He started to grab the apple but felt the bowl begin to tip so he let go and the apple fell back into the bowl; it steadied. Carl tried rolling the apple out the side but the bowl continued to rock so he stopped. Clearly the bowl was off balance; what could he use to replace the weight of the apple? His stomach growled - he needed that apple, and soon.
Then it came to him, though it was an unfortunate thought. His baseball, his priceless, autographed baseball, was the same size, same shape, and roughly the same weight as the apple. He slowly pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it. Could he give this up? Could he sacrifice something so valuable to him? His belly reminded him at that moment that sometimes food is of more worth than material things. Carefully Carl held the baseball slightly above the bowl with one hand and placed the other hand on the apple. With one fluid movement he swapped the two without the bowl rocking an inch. At last, he had his apple. He stared at it with admiration and pride as he made his way down the step stool. When he made it to the bottom he took one, huge bit out of the apple, causing juice to run down his chin. Licking his lips, he glanced back up at the fruit bowl, wondering if it was worth it. Sucking the juice out of the second bite, he decided yes.
Fast Food
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, they raced down the street.
"This was a 36PZ2 call?"
"Yup."
"Damn, punch the gas!"
The firetruck whizzed through a stop light causing drivers to slam on their brakes. They pulled in front of Poppy's Pizza - it was ablaze with light.
"It's still hot!"
"Good."
They drove away with their dinner.
"This was a 36PZ2 call?"
"Yup."
"Damn, punch the gas!"
The firetruck whizzed through a stop light causing drivers to slam on their brakes. They pulled in front of Poppy's Pizza - it was ablaze with light.
"It's still hot!"
"Good."
They drove away with their dinner.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Inconceivable Situation
He had been gone an hour. She would be worried, or suspicious. How was she to know what he had been up to? The balloon was his only proof. He had gone with his friend to the fair because his friend wanted to visit the kissing booth, but didn't want to go alone. The line was very long. While he waited for his friend, he bought a bright pink balloon because he thought, "She will like this." He hadn't gotten a chance to tell her that he was going out - she had been yelling at a telemarketer on the phone. She would be in a bad mood when he got home so better bring something nice back.
His friend finally got through the line and got his smooch. Now it was raining. It would take him an extra 30 minutes to get home because of the weather. It started coming down in torrents and by the time he dropped his friend off, it had already been 45 minutes. She would be extremely anxious now. He realized he had left his cell phone on the counter when he was leaving earlier that day. She would be furious - how many times had she told him to ALWAYS take his phone with him wen he left the house?
10 minutes away and the rain had stopped, but it had become quite gusty outside. He could now see the porch light shining through the mist - it was already 8:00 pm. It had been 6 hours. She would be pacing, biting her nails, debating whether or not to call the police. The balloon would cheer her up - it sat safely in the back seat.
He pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. He sat and took a deep breath, bracing himself. He opened the door - WHOOSH - a blast of wind swept through the car, grabbed the balloon, and breezed out again. He stood there gaping, his arms stretched out in an empty grasp - zero balloon. And he stood there with nothing to show for the day; he stood there and thought, "Oh dear."
His friend finally got through the line and got his smooch. Now it was raining. It would take him an extra 30 minutes to get home because of the weather. It started coming down in torrents and by the time he dropped his friend off, it had already been 45 minutes. She would be extremely anxious now. He realized he had left his cell phone on the counter when he was leaving earlier that day. She would be furious - how many times had she told him to ALWAYS take his phone with him wen he left the house?
10 minutes away and the rain had stopped, but it had become quite gusty outside. He could now see the porch light shining through the mist - it was already 8:00 pm. It had been 6 hours. She would be pacing, biting her nails, debating whether or not to call the police. The balloon would cheer her up - it sat safely in the back seat.
He pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. He sat and took a deep breath, bracing himself. He opened the door - WHOOSH - a blast of wind swept through the car, grabbed the balloon, and breezed out again. He stood there gaping, his arms stretched out in an empty grasp - zero balloon. And he stood there with nothing to show for the day; he stood there and thought, "Oh dear."
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